Pursuing Perfection
by Missy Mouse
Summary: A feature length hmm yeah right Casanova fic. Set before the movie, but may hitch up with it en route. Pairings include Casanova and a multitude of women.


Ok, my first (proper) Casanova fic. Rated for obvious reasons.

* * *

The streets of Venice relaxed under the midnight stars. The canal water twinkled an inky black reflection of the sky above. 

Long, thin, delicately carved gondolas sailed through the liquid sky. Their passengers giggled and flirted, as the paddles shattered the heavens, before they rippled and reformed once more. The gondoliers propelled their crafts along the canals with an easiness borne of practice, leaning lazily on their oars from time to time, humming brief snatches of song.

Venice at night was often as lively as Venice by day, if not more so. The ballrooms of every stately home were full, and the streets echoed to the sounds of chanting voices and merry violins.  
In the ballrooms, bands struck up tune after tune, drowning out the excited cries and chatter of the dancers, and the never-ending rustle of skirts and frock coats. In the cafés and dining halls, glasses chimed and cutlery scraped on china plates. The rich surrounded themselves with extravagance after extravagance, feasting on perfection and looking all the time at beauty.

Even the poor were merry, perched on canal sides, downing beer and cheap wine. Their songs, though decidedly more raucous than those of the gondoliers, were no less cheery or uplifting.

But no matter how much wine they drank, or many dances they danced, no one could be as happy or excited as the two young nuns, lying awake in their shared dormitory, reading by candlelight.

At least, that was what the Mother Superior assumed they were doing, judging by the occasional giggles and fits of laughter. Probably some modern rubbish, by idealistic poets, she decided.

The reason they were doubled was because of an unexpected new member. A tall, stocky girl newly arrived from Germany, who spoke no Italian, Latin, or any other recognisable language. Many of the girls chuckled as she walked past. The Mother Superior felt this rather unkind. There was no reason to laugh at someone if they had not yet been educated. But she had paired her with Agnella, a very virtuous girl, who was kind and gentle, and as her name intimated, pure.

Agnella was also beautiful and perhaps not as virtuous as the Mother Superior believed. And now not nearly as pure, either.  
She had always felt that there must be something better than being a nun, and now she knew what it was.

"Take me with you!"

"Where?"

His voice was light, playful. She grinned at him; let him kiss her mouth once more as he leant down to her.

"Wherever you're going of course."

"But your vows?"

It was a joke, and she giggled loudly. He smiled again, and her heart fluttered. She reached up, and stroked his neck, practicing her newly learned temptress skills.

"You could rescue me."

He smiled again.

"I already have."

With a final light kiss on her forehead, he leant away from her, sitting up, and getting off of the bed. It was not the answer she wanted.

"But I'm still here!"

He turned back to her from buckling his belt, and cupped her face in his hand. She quivered expectantly, drawing the covers round herself to add to the effect of 'innocent damsel'.

"I have already rescued you from a life where you did not know what true love was. Surely that is something not to be ignored?"

Agnella pouted. She let the covers dip lower, in a weak attempt at seduction.

"Will you come back for me?"

Once more he leant down to her, and whispered;

"Of course."

With a final, though none the less passionate, kiss he threw on his coat, and jumped through the open window onto the slates below.

The midnight Venice was scurrying past below him. The night was young, and he felt the indescribable knowledge that he was in a city filled with women who needed to know how it felt to be truly _loved_.  
Giacomo Casanova was a self-confessed philosopher, devoted to the perfection of experience. This included (but was certainly not exclusive to) the descent of roofs by night.

Once safely on the street below, he made a note of his surroundings. In the house opposite, a very neglected but beautiful young wife, whose husband was away on business. Three doors down, a young and energetic daughter, equally devoted to the pursuit of perfection as he. And two streets away, navigable by boat, was an unmarried sister of a wealthy businessman, who as yet had spurned all suitors, for mysterious reasons. Needless to say her brother had fitted new locks on the windows, and instructed the servants not to let any visitors into the house while he was away. Especially male ones.

It was, Casanova reflected, a good job the maid in that house (and come to think of it the cook and the housekeeper too), were such good friends of his. Whistling a tune half remembered from weeks ago at a ball, he sauntered across to the house opposite.

He smiled warmly as the door opened. The maid behind it blushed red, and shook out her hair. The young, beautiful wife could wait her turn.


End file.
